La Bella Dame Sans Merci
by Oblivion Keeper
Summary: "I put all my genius into my life; I put only my talent into my works." -Oscar Wilde. It's a good thing I have decent talent to write and less genius to fill a teacup. Collection of OneShots- Akatsuki-centric. Ratings are subject to change. DISCONTINUED
1. Momentary Distraction 27

(A/N): Well my goodness, what do we have here? A post? Take a moment to relax and read this short preface, as I am about to explain the title. If you don't want to, skip to the _*******__**.**_

What we have here is essentially practice. Practice of a pitiful writer who has expanded had her ego so greatly from grades in her literature class that it was going to burst if she didn't start writing before the blood eeked from her ears. So, now we have this monstrosity. This conglomeration of...well, crap.

Some may be short. They may be riddled with errors and mistakes (which I would be very glad if you pointed out). They also may need a makeover and an oreo smoothie, mint is preferable.

But the best thing is, IT'S ALL TRUE. Or atleast all based off of my life.

I have the worst luck, as you will soon see if you keep up with this.

**So, IMPORTANT. Most of these "chapters" (more like journal entries) are not going to be very interlinked. They're written day to day when inspiration strikes, so if you'd like you can apply a time-line by the dates I list, but it's **AU, **and each chapter will usually be held in a different regard. I will provide a brief summary for each beforehand, so you can tell what is appropriate for your age, if it interests you, and if you even want to bother with it. So there ya go. Most will be Akatsuki-centric, so if you're here for Kakashi, please leave. He's not going to show up for a while, if at all. However, if you're here to read about Deidara, Hidan, Kakuzu, Sasori, Itachi, or Tobi, you're in the money. I abuse them the most. Many mentions of Zetsu, Kisame, Konan, and Pain though. But laaaater~

And, to get it out of the way:  
>DISCLAIMER: I own nothing that I am about to post; characters, plot, or organizations. Save my own stupidity. That is mine alone.<p>

**_***_** Also, following posts will only contain the below section. No more of me rambling. If you want that, go to my author's page, which I'm about to edit.

Title: _Momentary Distraction (late edition)_  
>Date: February 7thish, 2011<br>Rating: T (character death **Warning: First person)**  
>Genre: TragedyAngst  
>Characters: Sasori, Deidara.<p>

Summary: "When life gives you lemons, dance. When it gives you lemonade, pray it doesn't shoot you in the eyes while you're trying to get at it."

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><p>"Dan…Danna?"<p>

I spoke tentatively, swift gasps of air causing my voice to be little more than a hiccup in the intense silence of the room. The suddenness of my voice had caused me to jump, as though I had frightened myself.

It was strange to see the puppeteer lying motionless amid the creations he considered to be his life, their eyes blank and uncaring, unsympathetic to the being that did not belong among them.

Burning chocolate eyes, awkwardly jade for one of such high birth were hidden, only the tie of the apron visible to me. I had to commit my legs to taboo. I wanted to be closer to him. Danna was just sleeping, I'm sure of it. Each bend of the knee moved me forward, each step dulled in the space around us. Several arms were outstretched to meet me, though I'm sure it was only chance that caused his creations to welcome me and that strange, nonexistent pressure between my lower arms and higher shoulders that lead me to the thought. It was amusing to me that only seconds ago in another room I had given you a large hug, mostly in jest, and felt the arms return and their pressure – the 'I-know-you-appreciate-me-but-knock-it-the-fuck-off' squeeze – and it has not left my forearms, my chest, since. It almost seems to boil from within, spreading beyond the touch of your wrists and fingertips and leaving the area actually contacted numb.

Small cracks of protest alerted me to how many new additions you must have been working on, causing me to remove my foot from the belligerent section of puppet and find a new, unconscious route to you. The distance did not feel long, I was by your side in but a moment, but the rock that had lodged itself in my throat had yet to remove itself and allow me to speak again. Only one thought drives me to reach out and clutch your protruding arm, one alone that sends fire up my fingers and turns my blood to ice as you fall in one unrestrained movement to your back. 'I want to see your eyes.'

I swear I feel something snap and the gas I inhale turns to ice. All I can do is see- see you and the brown eyes staring at nothing, the mouth so tightly shut that even air is not granted passage. It matters little, you're not trying. But I HEARD you- just moments- the creak of puppets- why are you _lying_ here?

The rest of you lie motionless as your eyes. Why weren't you breathing? In a shock of movement, I pull the shoulder farthest from me up and begin patting your back roughly, each slap meant to rouse you from still sleep. I don't care for sense and I don't care how it would work- I just know I want you back, even if I'm unsure you are gone at all. You could just be asleep and yell at me for touching you so harshly later. But each touch to your back leaves my head reeling- would it be my last touch?- but just moments ago- you're coming to!

You convulse and I feel the world begin to rotate once more as it relieves my arms of their burden. Motion! The very movement of your back, even though it's strained and hinted to little more than breathing, puts my own world back in motion and lets me live again. I want to cry, to sob and pull you to me; thank my gods- your gods- whoever! Yet as I crawl, knees knocking against the roughened floor and causing blood to escape from beneath the hem of the too-small clothing you had given me, to your face and deign to cup your chin in my hands, if only to remove it from the floor, I find my pain is only just beginning.

You feign return, fluttering eyelids which had jammed shut to hide the vacant amber, and I can hear the wisp of air as it pushes itself from your nostrils. "There you are!" I cry and fumble with my right hand, jamming it into my pocket and struggle to hold your head upright with my left –were you even trying to hold it up? "You have to push it all out Danna, come on!"

Of course I saw it! How can I miss it? My mind may be filled with delusion for your life, but the bubbles forming in the thin, white, mucus-like substance draining from your nose hints only the ominous but it fills me with renewed joy. You were trying! My right hand tremors and misses the package I had aimed for, but finally clutches and withdraws the plastic package full of tissues. You yourself had given them to me less than a week ago; a souvenir, you had said, for my illness and a precaution to avoid wiping my nose across the sleeves you would have to wash later. The sudden earthquake in my hands would not deter me, however.

Using the higher portion of my right sleeve, since it only stretches to just below the elbow, I gently press it across your nose, removing as much of the white as I can while my fingers grope for the up leafed tissue. Returning my hand as I tug my arm back, I remove the tissue and stagger as I catch your eye.

Your head may be limp, but your eyes remain the penetrating orbs they have always been. I want to sob, but only manage to separate my lips in an attempt to repeat our formality, but the 's' of your name slips past. It takes little time for me to notice your tongue, and while it may be lolling it is still within your mouth.

I wonder if it had been out before.

I hadn't allowed myself to look.

You speak no words, though that may be for the better. The inside of my head is screaming a plethora of different thoughts, and I find if you had spoken I might not have heard. Yet your eyes, adoring amber yet no longer alight with the fire- the passion- you contained during your puppet making, hold my own sapphire. Neither of us can move, youfrom inability and myself from turmoil.

Dark amber- brown, lidded with an understanding, a knowing that I could not fathom, lock onto my own roving cobalt blue.

Your eyes weren't shining, Danna. I wonder if you knew.

The glazed orbs lead me to a deep sadness, an acceptance in them that I cannot oblige. "No, Danna…un."

The steadiness of my own voice drifts about us, but I know I cannot remain collected for much longer. It was strange enough I had maintained this long in the first place.

You gave up. I watched as your eyes rolled upwards, hiding your iris beneath stilled lids and my beating heart stops. "D…Danna!" I continue to slap your back, each hit more rigorous than the last. "S…Sasori! Sasori no Danna!" The fluid was now coating my hand. "Sasori, don't give up, un!"

My Danna wasn't there anymore.

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><p>Who wants to guess what horrible life experience caused that? I'll even let you guess the disease. Woo! I have more and they're better than this (and not first person, huzzah!), but be patient. Til later!<br>~_OblivionKeeper_


	2. Coming Home

So this one isn't really based off of anything but a story idea that I had. For some reason, I can see a smaller Deidara calling Itachi and Sasori "daddy" and "mommy" respectively. So yeah.

Title: "Coming Home"  
>Date: Undocumented<br>Rating: T (warning for swearing)  
>Genre: GeneralHumor  
>Characters: Akatsuki (Mainly Deidara, Sasori, and Itachi)<p>

Summary: We don't know how it happened, but we're going with it.

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><p><strong><em>Prompt: "Coming Home"<br>_ 1,570 words**

He was pouting and pouting hard. It was obvious to the entirety of the cast that sat at the kitchen table, though none knew what to do about it. Itachi had found his own solace in a cup of hot tea from their estranged little tea-maker that Konan had bought them before taking an incredibly long vacation, probably because Pain had made the mistake of mentioning Deidara's current state before she had returned home from the grocery store. Damn those cellular phones. Upon her return, she had a week's all-planned vacation cruise ticket clutched in her hand. She hadn't brought anything for the remainder of the group, with the exception of Kakuzu's coffee cream and Pain's favorite bread.

The others had found less productive ways of dealing with Deidara's strange new attitude. Hidan was staring intently at his cereal, probably thinking of sacrificing it. Kakuzu was just sitting by his usual partner at an abnormally close proximity, as if he expected the Jashinist to sway Deidara from his funk. Kisame had adopted a habit of peeking over his shoulder at the young blonde almost mournfully. Pain himself had joined his self-proclaimed minions at the table, only to wring the tablecloth ruthlessly in his hands.

The Sharingan user sighed from his spot, his lower back propped up against a marble countertop, and set his tea down, eyeing each of his companions seriously. Their nerves were beginning to cause turbulence. "No one's going to go ask?"

Itachi's voice seemed to startle the collective organization, even the leader bouncing in his chair with something akin to fright. "'m sorry 'tachi, what?" Pain slurred, his voice nearly as quiet as the drips from the tea-maker.

"Deidara has been sitting there since yesterday afternoon. Does anyone even know if he's eaten?"

By the looks exchanged between the rest of the group, Itachi could easily confirm that several were unsure, and now concerned, while a select, money-grubbing few looked as if they could hardly care. Namely Kakuzu. "…little fucker can do what he damn wants." Hidan finally muttered, though his violet eyes betrayed his worry.

Which sucked, because worry in Hidan turned into violence.

Itachi sighed and left the room, knowing the entire group he left behind was watching him with intense gazes as he approached the little blonde in the living room. Everything was the way it had been yesterday, the television blaring on some strange kid's show that Itachi didn't think was appropriate for S-class criminals, a half devoured peanut butter and jelly sandwich left abandoned by an untouched remote, and an empty glass of orange juice all surrounding little Deidara, who sat with his knees to his nose and his arms firmly around his shins. Why he was sitting on the floor and not the couch Itachi would never know, as this was not his main concern. "DeiDei," he whispered impassively to the miniature blonde on the floor, the show blaring over his own voice, "why don't you tell me what's been eating you for the last few days?"

Deidara didn't even spare him a glance, eyes glued to the colors presented on the moving box. "Fuck off." The voice might have been threatening if it wasn't coming from such a high octave.

Itachi, whose eyebrows were now up to his hairline, shot a vicious glance back at Hidan, red swirling into his coal black eyes in rage. The silver haired man flashed him a smile. Apparently the Jashinist wasted no time in converting the miniature artist. "Deidara, you should not talk to someone who's trying to help you in such a way."

Deidara finally looked up at his full name, thorough distaste clear on his features. The entire organization had taken to calling the small child "DeiDei", as it no longer seemed appropriate to call the playfully boy who echoed their companion's appearance "Deidara" anymore. He just wasn't Deidara when he wasn't obsessing over art or trying to figure out how to murder Itachi in his sleep, and the child had yet to do either of those things, despite Sasori's best efforts.

Itachi's eyes seemed to light with understanding as he returned his gaze to the boy. "It's Sasori, isn't it?"

By the sudden recede of the blonde's crown behind his knees, he knew he was right. The puppeteer had left on a mission not long ago, one that required him to trek through Sound and Suna, though he was displeased by the latter. Itachi was appalled with both himself and the Akatsuki for not figuring it out sooner. Deidara missed his Danna, a fact more evidently displayed as the blonde attempted to hide his face in his makeshift barricade of limbs.

Ebony hair swayed as Itachi leaned forwards, pulling Deidara into his arms. The small child did not argue, merely wrapping toothpick thin arms around as much of Itachi's torso as he could grasp, burying leaking blue eyes into a bare shoulder. At the sound of his sniffles, Hidan and Pain finally emerged from the kitchen, Kisame and Kakuzu staying put incase all hell broke loose. "What fucking ate his lunch?" Hidan mumbled behind Itachi, not bother to try and not to let Deidara hear him swear.

Itachi sighed as Deidara's death-grip on him began to cut off his blood's circulation, making his extremities tingle. "He misses Sasori."

"No I don't, un!" Came the littlest one's cracking voice. But the cracking gave too much away.

Pain sighed, coming down to his knees. "DeiDei, you know Sasori wouldn't leave you. He'll be back in a few days. I just sent him on a small mission, and knowing him, half the town is already dead or on fire and he's been walking home for days now."

A small, incomprehensible whine came from Itachi's shoulder and the weasel shook his head, mouthing '_…didn't want me to come. Hates me…_' to Pain. The leader merely shook his head. "DeiDei, I ordered him to go alone. He doesn't like to be late and, no matter how much he wants to spend time with you, you would drag him down for time. It's better he's off on his own, he'll be back sooner."

"But Mama isn't here, un!" Deidara cried, causing Pain, Itachi, and Hidan's eyes to widen.

"Mama!" Hidan echoed. "Why the FUCKING HELL are you calling FUCKING SASORI bloody MAMA?"

It took all of three seconds for Itachi to adjust Deidara so he could free one arm and reach back, effectively nailing Hidan hard enough in the diaphragm to wind him and make him double-over to try and catch his missing breath. Kakuzu appeared in the doorway at this point, looming over the scene with undoubted high wishes he could get hits in on Hidan as well. Kisame had gravitated closer to Itachi as well. "Come now, DeiDei," Itachi began, trying to sound convincing, "we're all here still, and Sasori will be back in no time. Look, even Grampa Kuzu-" Kakuzu's eye twitched in response to his nickname "-is worried about you, and so is Kisame."

Deidara peered slowly over Itachi's shoulder, staring fearfully at Kisame, who did him the favor of a friendly smile…full of many pointed, carnivorous teeth. Honestly, he was no better than Zetsu. Deidara cowered in Itachi's arms and the ex-Mist swordsman resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "We're all here for you, DeiDei," Pain began, sitting cross-legged by Deidara and Itachi on the floor, "not just Sasori."

Deidara nodded shakily to Pain, his cerulean eyes finally alight with happiness and not unshed tears. "Thank you, Leader-sama, un."

"Why don't we all just fucking group hug already?" Hidan spat out. "I thought we were an S-ranked organization, not a nursery."

Kakuzu's wish came true and Deidara even snickered a little when Hidan swore from the pain of his head leaving his shoulders. Itachi placed his hands under Deidara's arms, lifting him up as he stood up and placing him against his shoulder, the small child's rear resting on the crook of his arm. "Actually," Itachi stated, causing everyone to look his way, even Deidara who was perched in his arms, "I think someone got home earlier than intended."

The organization watched as Itachi walked to the front entrance, opening the slab of solid rock so the sun spilled through and a redhead could be seen dragging a severely damaged Hiruko along behind him over the lake.

Sasori looked irritable, but he was back.

"Danna!" Deidara cried, nearly falling out of Itachi's arms as he released the elder's neck and reached for Sasori.

The redhead almost seemed to crack a smile as he entered and shut the slab behind him, dropping Hiruko to the ground. "Hello, brat." He greeted, removing Deidara from Itachi's care. "Don't tell me you sat around crying for me the whole time I was gone."

The rest of the Akatsuki smirked knowingly as Deidara shook his head 'no'. "Nope, un! Daddy made me feel all better, yeah!"

At this, the organization's eyes widened. "DeiDei…" Pain muttered, afraid for his sanity if the answer was what he thought it was. "Who's "daddy"?"

Deidara smiled widely, making his several missing baby teeth evident. "Dada 'Tachi, of course, un!"

Itachi and Sasori looked at one another, agreeing they never hated life more than at this moment . "Stupid brat…" Sasori mumbled, almost affectionately and Itachi nodded, heading back to the kitchen to finish his tea.

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><p>(AN): I want to post ones closer to today now, but I can't. Wade through the crap first, please.


	3. In Sickness

(A/N): Alright, quick back-track. The first, the initial story (where Sasori is not so healthy) was a bit of a depressing ramble I wrote when my puppy died. He had congestive heart failure and I was the last one to hold him before he died. I may or may not be traumatized, because 2 months later i'm still sitting here moping a bit. But yeah, Sasori had congestive heart failure. Dawwww.

AND I'M SORRY THIS ONE IS SO SHORT!

Title: "In Sickness"  
>Date: Undocumented<br>Rating: K  
>Genre: GeneralHumor  
>Characters: Sasori, Deidara<p>

Summary: At least he didn't get the thermometer.

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><p><em><strong>Prompt: "In Sickness"<strong>_  
><strong>379 words<strong>

It was moments like these when the puppeteer couldn't believe he'd let the boy live off of him for so long already. Not only was the boy lying in his bed, getting free room and board mind you, but he was ordering the house's owner about like his own personal servant. _Honestly_, the redhead swore to himself, _let me be struck dead if someone ever whines for help and I offer my house and assistance again._"

Yet a small peep of, "Dan-naaaa~" from down the hall had Sasori scooping the ladles of chicken broth and noodles into the bowl with renewed haste, nearly tripping over his own clumsily placed feet as he attempted to run down the hall to his guest and flip the stove off at the same time to avoid burning down the house itself.

The lump lying on his bed was as motionless as the day before, minus the frame-shaking coughs ripping from the boy's throat and the brief moans of distaste that followed. Long strands of spun gold spew themselves across his expensive sheets and blankets and, as Sasori drifted silently closer, he could hear the underlying rasp that had developed in the ill one's breathing. "How are you feeling, brat?" Sasori asked tentatively, trying to sound kind while still expressing the annoyance he had that the boy was STILL in his house after three long weeks. "I made you some soup; the doctor says it's good for you."

Listless blue eyes glanced his way and the body slowly lifted itself, shaking pale hands receiving the warm bowl from frigid hands. Sasori felt a small pride well up in his chest (it was his first time attempting soup after all, usually it was something small for himself while he worked; take-out, toast, or the like) as the spoon tentatively poked his creation. The redhead nodded, headed for the door. Reflecting, he noted his own soup's creamy broth and contemplated grabbing himself a nice bowl that would go nice over his newest work of-"Danna?"

Sasori sighed, fingers clutching around the door frame as he glanced over his shoulder, knowing his houseguest would be waiting for his attention. "Yes, brat?"

"You burnt the noodles, un…"

Never again was he offering his house.


End file.
